


Somewhere Between Waking and Sleeping

by pollencount



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 15:45:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollencount/pseuds/pollencount
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How long can one share his mind without losing it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere Between Waking and Sleeping

**Author's Note:**

> Anders speaks German, because in my head, Anderfels is somewhat a mixture of Bavaria and Iceland. BTW, I couldn’t find anything about the language spoken in the game, so I refer to it as Common (Tongue).

It must have been around 5am, still pre-dawn at that time of the year, when Hawke woke by the remote sound of a creaking door, followed by faint nearing footsteps. He sat up rather reluctantly, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He actually liked how fresh the air felt at this hour between night and day. The streets where still empty, except for the occasional bandits and their involuntary sponsors. Everything was so new and peaceful. The only downside was, that it was bloody 5 in the morning!  
“How come you’re not alarmed?”, Anders asked tentatively, as if not to wake his obviously already awoken lover _orsomethinglikethat_. He stood at the bedroom door now, not unlike a delivery boy waiting for his tip.  
“That’s because I know you by your walk.”, Hawke answered, evidently proud of his distinctive observation skills. “And there is also the fact that you are the only one who uses that door, the only one who has a key for it, too; besides myself of course.” The rogue put on a mischievous smile. He slowly approached the healer, ready to add a comment about his unique smell. Instead he stiffened at the closer sight of the other man.  
Infrequent blue and white sparks glimmered under his skin, like tiny bolts of lightning.  
“Anders, are you all right?”  
The mage blinked, not quite startled, but not quite certain either.  
“I’m not sure.”, he stated honestly. He looked Hawke straight in the face, a faint shimmer in the back of his wide amber eyes.  
“I… I think, I’ve lost a whole day this time.”, he paused just for a moment, when Hawke raised a hand to caress his cheek, but he did not draw back. Lately, the blanks in the apostate’s memory occurred more and more frequent and each time they lasted longer; an observation which worried Hawke more than he’d admit.  
“We… _I_ remember to have left your house as soon as day broke, to get some work done at the clinic…”, he rubbed his brow with the ball of his hand in sheer confusion. “and suddenly I am here again. How…?” When his voice cracked, Hawke gingerly removed Anders’ hand from his forehead to plant a gentle kiss on it. While he carefully put his arm around the other man’s shoulder to guide him to the bed, the recently entitled champion of Kirkwall couldn’t help but notice that the mage hardly filled out his coat any more. Anders had been slender ever since Hawke met him years ago in his clinic in Darktown. Yet it seemed, the man withered away bit by bit inwardly as well as outwardly. And all the rogue could do, was watch.  
“It’s ok.”, he said, although it really wasn’t. They set down side by side on the mattress. The blonde laid his head on his lover’s shoulder, remembering times in the circle, when Karl would be the one next to him, whispering words of comfort or listening to his own words, not of comfort but of rage and rebellion and freedom, sometimes even love, albeit they never called it that. He couldn’t afford those kind of feelings back then; and now that he could, Anders wasn’t sure he deserved them. He wasn’t even sure, he was capable…  
“…Anders?”, Hawke must have been talking to him for quite some time. Even though the mage couldn’t see his face, he could practically feel his eyebrows wrinkling up in that concerned way of his that made him look so much older than he actually was.  
“Das ist nicht mein Name.”¹, the apostate answered eventually, his thoughts somewhere between the past and the present.  
“Uh?”, Hawke replied eloquently. Then, when he realized that the healer had no intention to enlighten him, he added: “What language was that just now?”  
“Common, what else?”  
“No, it wasn’t.”  
“Yes. It was.”  
Pause.  
Now Anders could feel Hawke’s whole face wrinkling up, before the champion admitted: “Right, of course. So, what did you say again?”  
“I… it doesn’t matter.”, the blonde replied after a while, lost in thought. He looked down at his hands and remarked casually: “I’m glowing.”  
“Yes, you are, darling.”  
Anders blinked. “That’s funny. I don’t feel like I’m glowing.” There was something in his voice – or rather the lack of something – that unsettled Hawke; like the mage was there, right next to him, but at the same time he wasn’t. He was losing him. Or maybe, Anders was losing himself. _Maybe_ , he has been for a while.  
“Ich bin Anders, nicht wahr?”², he said after a little, as if he was talking about the weather or something equally trivial. But there was a hint of fear hidden in the way he said it.  
“I’m sorry, love, I don’t understand.” Hawke didn’t like the sound of his own voice and the poorly concealed worry it carried. In all honesty, the list of things the rogue didn’t like was long; spiders the size of horses for example, horse-sized spiders that were shooting poisonous saliva in particular. But what he liked least of all, was the feeling of helplessness. For there were things, he couldn’t fight with his daggers; things he couldn’t solve with diplomacy or wit. Things that made him feel utterly powerless.  
Anders had told him, he would break his heart. He had told him from the start. However, he hadn’t told him, that it meant for Hawke to watch the man he loved go to pieces over the years. Slowly. Painfully.  
“Am I Anders? Am I Vengeance?”. The sudden words dragged Hawke back to the presence. The man at his side was still looking at his hands, but what he saw was something else, somewhere else.  
“Sometimes I forget who I was before Vengeance – before Anders – when I still had a name that was mine alone.”, he squeezed his eyes in concentration. “I was a spirit once, wasn’t I? I was a boy.”  
“Yes, you were.”  
“I was.”  
They both fell silent, for talking about the past would eventually lead to talking about the future. And that was something they weren’t ready for yet.

**Author's Note:**

> ¹ “That is not my name.”  
> ² “I am Anders, aren’t I?” - note that “anders” means “different” in German, so the sentence can have two meanings


End file.
